MOTHERING Sunday: the day servant girls used to be given the day off to take their mothers a lovingly baked cake.

Hah! I should be so lucky. Not that my daughter could be called a servant girl - she's got a daughter of her own to do the dusting - but she does make a fluffier Victoria sponge than I've ever been able to achieve.

How she learned that particular skill I have no idea; I have no recollection of actually teaching her to cook anything.

In fact I don't think I set out to teach her very much at all apart from how to dress herself and ride a bike - though according to her selective memory she still insists it was her father who ran behind clutching the back of her saddle, and she had to teach herself how to put clothes on in the right order because her brothers demanded all my attention.

However, despite my failure as the perfect mum, she travelled miles yesterday to deliver flowers, soppy card and a cuddle - and not just because her brothers couldn't come.

Motherhood is not easy. These helpless little creatures don't pop out of the womb clutching an instruction book, and if they did we wouldn't have time to read it.

Once we've recovered from the wonderment (and relief) at our cleverness by producing this new human being, enveloped by love deeper than you've ever known before, reality sets in.

Mothers and daughters have an uncanny way of annoying each other I've found; and that's not just me. All my friends with daughters say the same. It's been said there is no bond stronger than that between a mother and daughter but I could argue I'm extremely close to both my sons - it's just different that's all.

Mother love doesn't distinguish between sons and daughters. It's sacrifice (not a virtue because we enjoy it), devotion, affection and from time to time the urge to throttle one of them. The only difference being, the daughter will want to throttle you back. Sons can't be bothered. It's easier to clear off and let mum and sister have a row.

I do occasionally wonder if I could have been a better mum. I watch daughter with her nine year-old, teaching her to make cakes, iron a T-shirt, dust a room, plant seeds, knit, sew, make a bird box and paint it any colour she could find in the garage without making a fuss about the mess. And then nailing it on the fence without standing by with bandages.

My granddaughter knows every fact of life in details I didn't discover until I was experiencing them - daughter enjoys informing me it was the same for her. In fact she delights in telling me she's only learned to be a perfect mother by my mistakes.

No child needs a perfect mother. Anyway, as her child will tell her one day, as I predict she will, there's no such thing. We simply do our best. Keep them warm, well fed, praising effort as well as success, occasionally saying "that was a silly thing to do" rather than "you're stupid" and making sure they know you love them to bits - whatever.

All a mum needs is to make her offspring the happiest and best loved in the world.

My mothering sons day had to be done from a distance - but daughter was here with her flowers, soppy card and a tight cuddle - and, surprise surprise - a cake.